Two Girls
by daughterofmars
Summary: They don't say it. "Aishiteru". Because they already know.


**Notes: **Yeah, this is pretty mature, so don't read it unless you're 16 . I wouldn't call it yuri (in the lemon sense), because that to me gives the wrong impression of the piece. It's sexual, but not explicitly so, because nothing like this ever is with me. However, you've been warned, so only read on if you really want to. (And to those of you who might be interested in knowing, I've just finished the next installment of Destined Couple and as soon as I can, I'll post. It will probably be a couple of days). Oh yeah... unbetaed.

**Dedication: **I dedicate this to my girl who is far away. I miss you, dear.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Naoko Takeuchi-sama owns it all.

**Summary: **They could rush it, but they don't, because so many other things in their lives are rushed and panicked at the moment. They don't want sex to be one of those things as well. An interlude in the S season of the anime.

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**Two Girls**

* * *

They rarely rush it. They could _(rush it; that is)_, but they don't, because so many other things in their lives are rushed and panicked right now. They don't need sex to be one of those things as well. So they don't hurry. Instead they savour the sensations – basking in the slow joy of it.

Of Haruka's fingers running up Michiru's arm, all the way to her shoulder, drawing an unintelligible set of hiragana and kanji on her skin which they don't pause to find heads and tails in, since they can read each other like open books anyway.

The way Haruka's breath catches in her throat when Michiru tightens her fingers in her blonde hair means _"go on"_. And the almost inaudible gasp that escapes Michiru's lips when Haruka leans in, running her tongue over the dip below her throat is another way of saying _"don't stop"_.

Words aren't needed. All that needs to be said has already been uttered many times between them over the past year, so they save their words _(their breath)_ and let their bodies do the talking.

During these peaceful hours that they have to themselves _(few as they may be)_, they never say _"aishiteru"_, even though a more appropriate time would probably never present itself. Because during these rare moments when they're not Uranus and Neptune, but only Haruka and Michiru, they already _know_.

They know that they are two girls – nothing more and nothing less. Two girls at war, with everything this identity entails of bleeding wounds and days stolen in the name of a higher goal. Heroines with two names and two faces, but underneath they never change.

Underneath their masks of day and night, they are simply two girls – the bodily facts unchangeable. Haruka is tall and lean, easily disguised as and mistaken for a man. Michiru is graceful and delicate, embodying all the traits of femininity that oppose and compliment her partner.

They know who they are, and they do not fear the reality of their own selves.

Haruka recalls how she was alone until Michiru found her way into her life, even when she took pretty girls out for dinner and joked with her friends at the racing circuit. Always alone. Caged inside herself. As Michiru arches beneath her, her hair falling around her face in waves that resemble the movements of her element, she seems a living reminder that Haruka is alone no more.

Michiru calls to mind that even though she doesn't believe in the concept of fate, destiny can certainly still be beautiful – as beautiful as the woman whose body seems to be not a separate entity, but an extension of her own being. As Haruka slips inside her, the extension becoming a unity, Michiru accepts the thought that maybe just this once her choices were made for her.

In the eternity it takes Haruka's fingers to find Michiru's essence, their eyes meeting across the distance of a touch, they allow each other the memories.

They don't rush it, not even when they balance on the verge of orgasm. Michiru reaches up, her fingers shaking along with the rest of her as she urges Haruka down for a kiss; a mere press of soft lips and the sharing of troubled breathing.

And even as Michiru comes first _(Haruka following closely after, Michiru's fingers licking at her like small, playful waves)_, it's slow. A slow fire in her veins that spreads a little further for every contraction of muscles. Afterwards, they lie in a sweaty heap; a lump with too many arms and too many legs, short hair mingling easily with long, aqua locks.

The seconds linger in the empty space between them as they become aware of not themselves, but each other.

Even now, they don't say it. _"I love you"_. They already know.

Because they might be two girls at war, but they are also two girls in love.


End file.
